Notre Dame was blind to these
by Whispurrs
Summary: Snapshots in time trying to add character development to the sequel characters; turning Sarousch into a actual antagonist, and making Madellaine's troubles far more genuine. Honest reviews so much more than welcome; as I need to know whether I have succeeded.


**The tale of a second life...**

It was a bitter winter night; the wind whispered solemnly as the most earnest of prayers; others turning it into an excuse for tales to be told and wine to be drank; fairy tales of caution, danger and most of all bloodlust told to children who worshipped those tales more than those twee ones of Snow and Aurora, as pretty and delicate as they sounded.

For others yet, however it was a backdrop of contemplation and the power of silent thoughts, whether of woeful times or those hopeful ones that were to come.

This forsaken wind howled against the famous eyes that glared a time ago at Frollo's morals and true connection to the God that he painted; one of a justice most would call tyranny.

However, as wind, especially that of a near storm does not discriminate whom it touches, it also brushed upon a circus troupe which had ill-timed the performance dates, thinking that money would change the mind of nature.

Needless to say none came to see the performers, and a lesson was once again discarded onto the streets, blaming it on the ''damn propriety of the bastards of Paris.''

Still, this one child [in our eyes, woman in those of her time] preferred tears to smiles immensely – or at least in theory.

They had tried to find Esmeralda and pleaded with her to make the crowd flock, but she unlike the leader had sense about her, and refused – and not entirely because of the abysmal weather, either.

She hugged herself tightly, looking out to nowhere in particular, her room empty of sounds and devoid of all life, save for her faint breathing, trying to recall the day that passed.

She could hardly believe the look on Melisande's face; of sorrow and disgust combined, under the veneer of strength.

She looked so different from when she was in moods of such foul spite; she mused, remembering the countless times that she had hissed at her for treading the wrong step, only for her to be almost as quiet as herself when she was amongst the other performers, a small giggle when Andre touched her cheek a certain way, or a whimper of distaste when Évrard ''flattered'' her.

''Why are you so upset today?'' she asked, inquisitive as to what was the cause of her odd expression.

''I am not upset, fool; I have food and shelter just like you; and now,'' her voice started shaking, eyes becoming blurred with what threatened to flow from them, ''I will repay our Master.''

grew curious at this point; a trait which she did not know had killed many a foolish cat before.

She had heard him being called many a thing – most of which, in her innocence she did not know the meaning of; as it was practise that the females of the trope should not be vulgar or common and thus taint their allure.

She had never heard him be called master before though, and she thought it ill-suited him; especially as she did not want him to be in the first place – until he plucked her urchinous self from the streets and thus, or so he told her from hell into an honest living.

Which naturally involved being an assistant, having constant warnings about just were she would go in the afterlife if she did not do as she was told and naturally, for a living so obsessed with virtue – stealing.

In truth he used this to stay on the good side of the law, and were worst to come to worst discuss away the fates of evil men and women with the judge.

She shuddered as she called one extra part of her living; the dreadful corset tightening that came with it; one of these occasions done by her ''master himself.

She stood there twirling her hands in whatever fashion would work with the individual trick, smiling whatever her day was like; but most of all she was what her employers would call pretty – the most revealing clothes that would be accepted in their times, when it was not marketed as a child's experience – as they thought that infamy was more prized than fame.

She noted that Melisande was wearing a similar outfit, although it was a day when performance was futile, and in any case she had no performances scheduled.

Suddenly, the wheels in her mind turned, until she came up with a brilliant explantion.

''Oh, you will pay Sarousch and then meet your fiancée, vous serez tellement bien-aimé, et pas plus de Sarousch!'' She exclaimed, giddy with joy.

''You know we are meant to speak English as we do while preforming, Madellaine; besides, I doubt I'd get any husband in_ this_ – perish the thought. I _do_ wish I could leave though, but I have been well enough cared for.''

''Who are you trying to impress then; besides; your clothes are usually a little more … humble.''

''I think there are a lot of other things this dress is not, but humble shall do a fine job of summing it up.

Oh, you really _are_ a fool, aren't you? Between us, I rather hope you stay that way.''

This confused her no end; how was she to do anything at all if she was stuck a fool; fools didn't go to places unknown or write spectacular… _anythings_; even if orphaned women who lived as circus performers did not as a rule either.

''I'm sorry, but I'll have to go now, I doubt he'd want me to be late. Besides,'' she paused, blurring the line of laughing and crying, ''I shouldn't talk to fools anyway.''

That bothered her no end; she had been nice; if abnormal to her and now, as she was nearly in tears she called her a fool again; what sort of friend, companion, cohort – anyone _was _she?

…

A few days later, she conversed with Idony; a more good natured person; in general, if slightly older than her, discussing the matter of how Melisande had run from the troupe seemingly from thin air, leaving a bad taste in Sarousch's mouth, however beautifully shaped he thought it was; the mirror his only constant companion that would never bicker with him, or get rowdy after drinks; but always show him a reflection of Adonis, and gave him the strength of the gods.

''I heard as Sarousch gave his offer to her she turned quite pale and instead of getting herself some water as she said ran to Notre Dame for sanctuary. It's nice to have a proper juicy scandal here for once. Oh, why do you look so upset; I say good riddance, she was always doing things she knew were wrong and then blamed it on us at the last minute.''

Idony chatted away; about how the only scandal they'd ever had before involved a ferret and a hat, and some of the things that made the runaway tightrope walker such an awful person.

She was quite happy idly gabbling on, and not with an ounce of hatred or mean spirit in her voice, but if she had tact it seemed she lost it rather a time ago.

Then Madellaine recalled her bombardment of questions at Melisande, and felt uneasy, as if it were akin to the way Idony was talking, like their friend was a woman in the paper that she knew nothing of except the one element of impropriety.

''Oh, I'm boring you now, aren't I?'' She said, later proposing they should meet at lunchtime, and in the meantime watch out for the wrath of Sarousch.

''Oh, you weren't boring me at all; but we just_ have _to meet for lunch.'' She smiled.

Tact; that was her new mantra.

…

Paris again, she smiled, adoring it when she came there; vowing that she would look at [although first she would have to actually find] the most famous things in its glory.

True, the last time she came there was – uneasy at best, and she had learnt a great deal from it that she did not particularly want to, whether or not it she needed the information.

And yet that, and bad weather could not tarnish the place; was it not constant; unchanged by the people's follies and woes; as a place it was still and beautiful, even when sorrowful, but today the sun decided it would shine upon it angelic joy.

Vowing to escape, she did; to beautiful and brilliant parks and monuments; each all to welcoming and happy for her to bask in their glory, treating the beggar woman with as much right and love as the most noble of lords, even if the people did not.

She set off writing nothings as she stared at all the wonders it had to offer to one with inquisitive eyes, scribbling down in an ungodly hurry all thoughts, sights and sounds, so they would never be confined to the spaces of her mind only, and could be set free to see the world.

Still, after writing all she possibly could in a space of minutes those murky old thoughts stagnated in her mind; thoughts of whatever Melisande was doing with her life now that she was out into the open she both yearned for and cowered at; and how, in a similar meeting to the one Melisande freed from, Idony's vibrancy was null and void.

Sarousch had, for the most part remained the same, although he lurked by himself more often than usual; his circle of friends and willing bodyguards and conmen ever decreasing; as did his ''beauty'', a questionable thing in the first instance.

Still, he vainly proclaimed that he was in fact, growing more beautiful by the day, and said the reason that no women callers came anymore was because he did not want thank impugned upon.

Oddly enough for someone so gorgeous, he became quite sore when the subject was brought up, deciding instead he would believe in it at least.

Still, he was not such a threating presence as before, and so she felt happy enough to catch the last rays of contentment in Paris.

As light dimmed and she made her way to her home; as much as it did not feel like one, for once her optimism did not feel an unnecessary farce, but rather a dearly held truth.

She wanted to tell the world about her day of freedom; but she seemed not to have a friend within it any longer, and she nearly wrote her hand off whilst it was happening, and so, first making sure no one was about to deem her eccentric or mad she told herself about it all over again, freeing her thoughts once more.

''Oh but I missed Notre dame; apparently it's famed, and with a story behind it too….'' She sighed a little in reflection, perhaps missing some great tale, or a brilliant part of history in the making – or an old wives tale repeated by children.

She shrugged it off; it may have been a beautiful nothing, but as she had not seen it nothing it stayed.

''Madellaine.'' A rich voice whispered; the whisperer lost behind the darkness.

''I told you to stay here; but you need punishment – in due time – do not worry, it will be_ fantastic_…''He chuckled, fading into the dark.

Of course, the modern, and quite sane response would be ''Creeper alert; bye bye now [run!]'' However, she was intrigued; the voice sounded familiar, but far more predatory than any other that she had heard, although it still sent a mass of shivers down her spine.

As frightened as she was though, she began imagining this mystery man's past; and painted him a tragic anti villain; children dead to poverty and consumption, eating scraps and trying to find some joy, until his sanity slipped; turning to murder for salvation.

As hard a bedtime story as it was to fall asleep to, she felt quite satisfied with the tale.

She lay down, sprawled upon her bed, trying to get the images of his killings out of her mind, but finding herself almost attracted to them in the shock and ferocity of their nature.

Secretly, as horrified as she was, she felt they were welcome to invade her sleep and bring nightmares to her; as they were far more interesting than the dark nothingness of a deep and dreamless slumber.

…

Another day spent crying, she mocked herself; another day that was made to be useless.

She was to be wed to Sarousch's cousin, a man of whom she did not have any trace of history; just a few choice glimpses.

She was glad that it was not to the ringleader himself she was going to be married; but gratitude could not, in that situation some easily to her or any other.

She heard the two growl and hiss at each other; and thought of her fragility and utter weakness in his hands when she was demure little wife, there surely to be broken, as she knew either would take great pleasure in.

Well, it was her duty, she told herself, despising the fact that once again, useless as per usual; she cried; after all Melisande has not been lying when she said she never would have fled to a fiancé in that all those years ago.

She was an outsider; and they never married in.

Even if she could she'd be persecuted and ridiculed for her less than honourable past, and she had no doubt she'd be turned from a simple petty child thief into a criminal of far worse crimes.

If she did not marry him, she would never marry_ anyone_, and would die and wither alone and unwanted in the cold after being thrown from the circus as each trace of beauty faded into age.

She would be protected by her ring if she was married, she would have her husband's strength and money to protect her and to assure she did not die alone, and could eat well until she left this world; as long as she did the trivial things for him.

She winced however at the thought of children, knowing full well they would be expected; until she reprimanded herself once more; he would cross that bridge when he wished to, and no earlier; for her sanity's sake.

She recalled the engagement and each word used; the bored tone of voice Bertrand stated each word in and the faux smile she flashed at him with a banal yes.

Congratulations were given to her by the mass, and she took them with a smile, until they separated full as ever of love and affection.

…

Shortly after another row between them Bertrand had left with a rapidly bleeding scar and a very happy ex fiancé, the morning before a skinned dog was placed by his door; and it seemed he took a hint.

Sarousch did not look or even act decidedly evil; but she had seen Melisande's fear, Idony's lost vibrancy and Bertrand's scar.

If there was only one thing she knew; it was that he would not be confined to prison for long, and that security would not be lasting, nor stable even within a short space of time.

She gazed upon his face; the man who had been named in such cruelty and yet being as far removed from it as possible, no or very few inner demons jeering and howling a him, intending to prise all joy away.

Though there was no doubt his eyes had seen pain, and yet in their earnest compassion the warmth showed such utter simplicity; and she was sure, by looking into them, he would save any man or woman's life with the chance to.

That was not to say he may not regret or at least feel uncomfortable over it afterwards; after all, for years he was quite nearly Frollo's son, and he could not shake every vice that his old master had taught him.

Still, as ethereal and perfect as those features were to her, they unsettled her so very much, on account of her unworthiness; she who had stolen and lied and may well do so again to save her skin.

He could not hurt even one undeserving soul – and she had, whether inadvertently or otherwise, tainted many.

His form that others called grotesque was, although not that of Adonis, familiar to her, and held an, albiet vague beauty of its own; the light her love bestowed him pouring over each feature and giving it some air of beauty.

She knew that he would have strived to give her the world, but she would never ask for it, on account of not deserving it; and that there was more pain to be seen in the world; and giving it to her would be the most glorious and thoughtful of burdens.

''Maddy, are you ok?'' He asked, almost worried, noticing that she was musing.

''Of course I am.'' She smiled, joyously, before embracing him.

She was always ok if he asked it of her, or any other did, for a matter of fact.

After all, Melisande would have wanted her to do exactly as she said...

**Notes.**

**My attempt to turn Madellaine into a fleshed out character, along with Sarousch – did it work?**

**I like this more than my longer pieces, and yes, this will only ever expand into a two shot. **


End file.
